


Thunder

by lachatblanche



Series: Dollhouse AU [32]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Consent Issues, M/M, One-Sided Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachatblanche/pseuds/lachatblanche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik makes the first move, setting events in motion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunder

Erik watched as the fourth black-car-with-tinted-windows of the day emerged from the underground parking lot, and quashed down his growing impatience by making a note of the departure in his notebook. Since the day that he had received the message about Shaw he had spent almost every waking moment parked outside the Dollhouse, scrutinising the area and making careful note of all those who came and went. 

He had spotted the entrance to the Dollhouse – or, at least, the rear entrance – almost immediately. It wasn’t actually all that hard when you knew where to look. This entrance seemed to be the way from which all the Dolls and their minders seemed to come and go. It also seemed, to Erik, to be the most direct route to where he needed to go – straight to the heart of the Dollhouse. If Erik had learned one thing during his six months in the Burglary division, it was that breaking and entering was _always_ infinitely easier from the backdoor: the front door had bolts and chains and the disadvantage of nosey neighbours and prying eyes; the backdoor, on the other hand, was a gateway to the heart of the house and was usually only barred by one very simple lock and a few rubbish bins. While the Dollhouse was obviously no ordinary residence, Erik was very much hoping that this principle held true all the same.

He had in the past two weeks come up with several different plans on how to effect an entrance into the Dollhouse. Anxious though he was, he now felt reasonably confident that he would be able to get in one way or another. Getting out, however, was another matter, but he tried not to worry too much about this. He would be fine, just as long as everything went according to plan …

He glanced down at his watch. It was not yet noon. He had hours before Shaw arrived, he knew, but he wanted to be on the safe side: he would enter the Dollhouse as early as he could and then find a way to stay out of sight for the next few hours until he knew that Shaw was actually present. Hopefully, in that time, he would find Raven and warn her to get the heck out of dodge. Then he would be able to call in the Dollhouse’s location to the police department, cuff Shaw in a pair of shiny brand-new handcuffs, and emerge victorious, a hero in the eyes of all.

Well - that was the theory, anyway.

Erik shifted in his seat and glowered at the unprepossessing glass-and-steel exterior of the buildings veiling the Dollhouse from view. He had been sat behind the seat of his vehicle for hours now, and his back was beginning to feel the effects of it. He stubbornly refused to move, however. He wouldn’t, not until – 

Ah.

There he was. 

In the two weeks that Erik had been watching the comings and goings of the Dollhouse employees, he’d had many ideas on how to gain access to the building. The most sensible of these, however, involved the use of Ugly Smoking Guy.

Ugly Smoking Guy (named so because of his unattractive exterior and his unhealthy addiction to Marlboros) was a guy who entered and exited the Dollhouse rather frequently. Unlike most of the others that Erik saw come and go from the House, Ugly Smoking Guy was always alone – probably because he wasn’t trusted enough to look after any of the Dolls, Erik figured. The man was tall, broad and built like a brick wall, and Erik guessed that he was more of a general security man than anyone with a proper, hands-on role, which suited Erik just fine. 

He had taken to studying Ugly Smoking Guy and had found, to his pleasure, that he had a routine: the man took two, hour-long breaks a day, one in the evening and the other, very conveniently, just after noon. He would drive out from the underground parking lot in the same black car, unremarkable but for the small purple dinosaur that hung from the inside rear-view mirror. He would then proceed to a nearby diner where he would spend the next forty-five minutes consuming a cholesterol-heavy lunch while glancing down at a newspaper and flirting with the same tired-looking and unimpressed waitress as he always did. Upon finishing, he would then go and use the diner’s bathroom before leaving the diner and returning to his car. He would then usually light up one of his beloved Marlboros in the parking lot before eventually grinding the stub beneath his heel and driving back to the Dollhouse. 

Erik’s first instinct had been to ambush the man in the diner bathroom or the parking lot, knock him out and stuff him in the back of the car, and then take his place in the driver’s seat. Time and good sense, however, had allowed him to readjust the plan; there was no sense in provoking a confrontation out here, after all, and god knows that he would need all of his strength and skill when he was _inside_ the Dollhouse. No, it wouldn’t do to attack the man – a former military man, at that, by look of him – in broad daylight where anyone might come across them; nor would it do him any good to drive away in the man’s car only to be stopped at the gates of the Dollhouse for the want of any proper key or password or whatever super-secret shit you needed to enter the clubhouse.

No, Erik had eventually decided. Everything would be much easier if he allowed the security man to continue as usual and then just … tagged along for the ride. Preferably without the man realising it.

And so that was how, thirty minutes later, Erik found himself squeezed into the boot of a big black car, having jimmied the lock open and contorted himself into a shape that a gymnast twenty years his junior would’ve be proud of. He had no doubt that he would suffer greatly on his exit from the car but he tried not to think too much about that now. He would just have to suck it up and get over it. 

‘Getting over it’ was easier said than done, however. Not even five minutes after cramming himself into the car, Erik found himself bitterly regretting his decision to not club the driver over the head and steal the car for himself. His knees were killing him and he was pretty sure that he would emerge hunchbacked from the car at the end of the journey, but by far the worst thing about his idea was the heat. Erik had removed his jacket and loosened his shirt buttons before stepping into the car but that could only help so much. The car had been parked out in broad daylight and the sun was directly overhead. Erik had been sweating even before he had shut the car door over himself; now that it was shut he was practically baking in his skin.

He spent the next ten minutes or so cursing his goddamned idiotic idea in the filthiest language possible before the muffled sound of a footstep caused him to freeze, all senses immediately on alert and his discomfort automatically forgotten. He held his breath as the footsteps seemed to stop directly in front of him and his heart started to beat faster. Surely the man wouldn’t look in the trunk of the car? He had never done so before, surely he wouldn’t do so now – today of all days?

The moment seemed to go on forever. Then the man outside suddenly sneezed and the footsteps resumed once more. A few steps onward and then came the jingle of keys followed by the sound of a lock turning. A door was opened and then the whole car shook as someone entered it. There was the sound of the door slamming and then, a moment later, the keys turned in the ignition and the car started up, the thrum of the engine reverberating through the entire vehicle and into Erik’s very bones. He gritted his teeth as a drop of sweat slid slowly down his neck and resolutely ignored it, concentrating instead on the movement of the car.

The exit out of the diner parking lot was painfully bumpy and Erik suppressed a snarl as the car dipped and rattled over the rocky surface. He breathed a sigh of relief once they hit the smooth road away from the diner but then immediately swallowed a curse as a familiar smell hit his nostrils. Smoke. At first Erik couldn’t help but dumbly think that the sweltering heat inside the car had actually caused the interior to catch on fire but a second later he recognised the smell for what it was. Cigarette smoke. The goddamn bastard was smoking in his car. 

Erik couldn’t help but curse his luck. The man must have been running too late to enjoy his cigarette in the parking lot and must have instead decided to smoke whilst driving back to work. Erik gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, cursing viciously under his breath. There was no way around it: someone out there _really_ hated him. 

The journey from the diner to the Dollhouse took less than ten minutes but to Erik it may as well have been seventy. He tensed each time the car slowed down and his heart thrummed wildly in his chest each time he heard the murmured words that signified that the car had reached a checkpoint or security block. As the seconds ticked by, Erik found himself getting increasingly more paranoid. Each time the car stopped or slowed he was sure that the game was up. Surely, he thought wildly to himself, surely in a building with such heightened security they wouldn’t be fooled by such a ridiculous trick as hiding in the boot of the car?

And yet it seemed that it was so. The car slowed down and, after a few minutes of careful manoeuvring, Erik felt it begin to reverse into what was doubtlessly a parking space. He breathed a sigh of relief when it finally stopped and the engine cut off. He waited patiently for the sudden lift in the car’s carriage and the slam of the door that signalled the man’s departure from the car, holding on until the sound of footsteps receded in the distance before wriggling about so that he was positioned against the car lock. He then took a deep breath and, after counting to a hundred, cracked the door of the boot open. His eyes immediately flickered shut as a cool breeze entered the car and he shivered even whilst enjoying the sensation. Peering through the crack, he strained his ears to listen but heard nothing. Finally, gritting his teeth, he gently lifted the door of the car and, keeping a watchful eye out all the while, quickly clambered out the boot. 

He just stood there for a moment, following his exit, shaking slightly. He badly wanted to slump down against the car to quell the trembling numbness in his limbs but he instead forced himself to stand up straight. He flexed his arms as he closed the door of the car and then spent the next few minutes trying to work out the kinks in his back from the punishing ride. When he at last felt ready to move on, he straightened up, letting out a low groan at the audible _click_ his back gave at the movement. He then quickly straightened his shirt, slung his jacket over his arm and, after checking his reflection in the mirror, turned and cautiously made his way over to the end of the underground parking-lot.

It was a few minutes before he reached the end of the car park and he was relieved to see a sign pointing to the way in. Approaching the well-lit area, he saw that there was a door up ahead. No, he corrected himself – not a door, exactly. It was, in fact, a set of elevator doors and, as Erik came closer, his heart sank a little. Instead of a normal button at the side of the elevator there was a card slot; next to the card slot was a keypad. Erik grimaced. Doubtless a security pass and key code were necessary to summon the elevator. Erik had naturally expected as much but it was still disheartening to see. He had rather been hoping for the traditional security guard and keyhole combo, but, of course, the Dollhouse was slightly more sophisticated than that. 

He stared at the elevator grimly, trying to come up with a decent plan. He would have to be quick about it, he knew; his position between the elevator and the car park was precarious at best, and, worse still, there was virtually no cover for him to hide behind. He gritted his teeth and took a moment to consider his options. He could bypass the security system, no problem, but that would take time and it would be obvious to anyone who passed what it was that he was doing. On the other hand, he couldn’t just stand about, twiddling his thumbs and waiting for - 

At that moment he heard the squeal of car brakes and he immediately ducked low and out of sight. Glancing around, he quickly peeled away from the wall and darted around the side, coming to a low crouch near the wheels of a car parked conveniently close-by. He then watched, eyes narrowed, as a sleek black car pulled up into one of the parking spots and came to a stop with a smooth purr. Moments later, the door of the car opened and a man stepped out. Another security man, Erik mentally tagged him, eyeing the functional black uniform that differed from the smart suits used by those who escorted the Dolls in and out of the House. The man was likely returning from his lunch break, just like Ugly Smoking Guy. 

Well, Erik thought as he watched the man walk towards the lift doors, let it never be said that Erik Lehnsherr was not a man to seize welcome opportunities with both hands.

He waited until the man was almost at the lift doors before darting around the car he was hidden behind, pausing only to don his suit jacket. He then waited until the man at the elevator had taken out his pass key before striding forward, watching with deceptively keen eyes as the man swiped his card and tapped out a code on the keypad.

‘Ah,’ Erik said as he came to a stop, causing the man to look up. His eyes flicked over Erik, from his well-tailored suit to the hand that was midway out of his trouser pocket in the midst of the act of retrieval. Curiosity satisfied, he gave Erik a nod before turning to look away, patiently waiting for the lift to arrive.

Erik let out an inaudible sigh of relief and pulled his hand away from his pocket. It was astonishing, really, what a good suit and strong body language allowed you to get away with. He mentally thanked whatever gods were listening for the obsessive part of his personality that had pushed him to spend hours upon hours searching for a suit that was the perfect replica of those worn by the men that he had seen chaperoning the Dolls in and out of the House. First impressions were, after all, the strongest.

There was a low _ding_ and then the elevator doors opened. The man in front of Erik nodded amiably at him and gestured for him to go in first, and Erik did so readily, nodding at the man in return.

‘What floor?’ the man asked, following him into the elevator with an easy smile.

Erik quickly scanned the buttons on the side of the elevator. ‘Ground floor for me, please,’ he said smoothly.

The other man nodded and pressed the appropriate button. There was a momentary pause but then, much to Erik’s displeasure, the man began to talk.

‘Haven’t seen you around here before,’ he said pleasantly, ‘You new?’

Erik had tensed in suspicion at the question but he quickly relaxed upon viewing the open expression on the other man’s face. After a moment of consideration he reluctantly decided that his best option was to answer the question instead of ignoring it.

‘Yeah,’ he muttered grudgingly, giving the man a nod of acknowledgement. ‘That’s right. I’m new.’

The other man nodded at that.

‘You’re lucky,’ he said enviously, eyes lingering on Erik’s suit, a sharp contrast to his own plain black ensemble. ‘Being a Handler, and all. I didn’t know they were taking more on, otherwise I would have put my name forward.’

Erik let out a noise of polite agreement. ‘Yes,’ he said, gritting his teeth behind his bland smile. ‘I feel very lucky.’

‘I bet,’ the man grinned, seeming not to notice Erik’s halting reply. ‘You Handlers get to have all the fun. What’s it like, anyway?’

Erik hid a scowl, wondering why the man wouldn’t shut the hell up. He was having a very hard time figuring out why he shouldn’t just knock the man on the back of the head and gag him with his belt. It was only the fear of ruining his mission that kept him from doing so.

‘It’s good,’ he said instead, plastering on a fake smile. ‘It’s … very interesting work.’

The other man laughed at that.

‘Interesting is one word for it,’ he said, smirking slightly. Then: ‘Who did you say you were Handling again?’

The question was casual enough but it caught Erik completely by surprise.

‘I – I didn’t say,’ he said after a moment, hoping that it would be enough.

The man turned to him and gave him a look. ‘Right,’ he said flatly. ‘Come on, man. I’m just asking. Who’s your Doll?’

Erik’s mind was completely blank. He cast around for a name to say and, in his desperation, found himself hitting on the one name that never seemed to be far from his thoughts these days.

‘Charles,’ he said before he was able to stop himself. ‘I – Charles. It’s Charles.’

The other man stared at him for a moment and Erik’s hand instinctively crept closer to the concealed gun at his waist. Shit, he cursed silently, angry with himself, _Charles is his **real** name. These guys probably call the Dolls by fucking **numbers** or some-_

‘Huh,’ the man said with a shrug, breaking Erik’s train of thought as he turned back to look at the front of the lift. ‘I thought Howlett had him.’

Erik’s eyes flickered close for a moment and he let out a mental sigh of relief. _Howlett,_ he thought mentally. _Howlett has Charles._ He would remember that.

‘No,’ he said instead, sounding almost breathless. ‘Not anymore. Charles is mine now.’

The other man nodded easily at that but didn’t say anything further. A few seconds passed and then the lift finally came to a halt with a light _ding_. 

‘Well,’ the man said, stepping forward and smiling at Erik as the doors slowly slid open. ‘It’s been swell talking to you but I’d best be on my way now – the Doc’s expecting me and I don’t want to be late. _You_ know how MacTaggart is about punctuality, right?’

‘Yeah,’ Erik agreed distractedly, nodding his head vaguely even as his eyes zeroed in on the gleaming-white room that had been revealed through the opening lift doors, ‘He’s a real stickler for punctuality.’

He realised almost immediately that he had said the wrong thing. The man at his side stiffened and turned to look at him with a bemused expression. As Erik watched, the man’s eyes seemed to cloud over and he took a step backwards inside the elevator, his forehead creased in confusion.

Erik really had no choice.

Before the man could complete his thought-process, Erik stepped forward, grabbed him by the back of the head and then slammed him down sharply onto his raised knee. The man didn’t make a sound: he was out before he fell to the floor. 

The whole thing had taken less than five seconds.

Erik quickly looked around, peering out of the elevator in order to see if his attack had been witnessed. There didn’t seem to be anyone around, however, so he quickly ducked down over the body of the unconscious man and started to rifle through his pockets. He hastily pulled out the man’s key card and I.D. and slipped them into his own pocket. He then patted down the body once more, pausing only to remove the man’s gun from its holster and tuck it into his jacket before rising and calmly walking out of the lift. He paused there for a moment, wondering what to do, before sighing and turning back to look at the body on the floor of the elevator. 

It was way too risky to leave him in the lift, he decided; he would have to find somewhere to stash the body, and quick.

He glanced around. He blinked after a moment and frowned. He had imagined that the Dollhouse would be _much_ busier than this. Instead, there didn’t seem to be anyone about and the dearth of people on the _ground floor_ of the building was making Erik feel somewhat anxious. Surely there must be someone about? His eyes then drifted to the body on the elevator floor and he grimaced, remembering that someone _had_ been about and that he had just knocked him out. Shaking his head, he quickly shrugged off his paranoia and instead turned to scrutinise the area around him. 

Sighting a door a little way away, he quickly slipped out of the elevator and made his way over to it. He paused when he reached it, brought to a stop by the presence of a card reader in front of the door. He frowned for a moment before pulling out his freshly-stolen key card and swiping it through the reader. He let out a short breath when the light flashed green and he then cautiously reached out and, grasping the door handle, pushed open the door. To his immense relief, the room was empty. Casting his eye over it once more, Erik then headed back to the elevator where, grasping the man by the ankles, he quickly dragged him out of the lift. Glancing about wildly, he then proceeded to pull the man over to the room, pausing only to swipe his card against the reader once more before pushing the door open and tugging the man in, allowing the door to gently swing shut behind him. It was then the work of a moment to drag the unconscious security guard over to one of the numerous convenient cupboards that he had spotted before and – with only a small, momentary pang of guilt – stuff the body into it. 

That done, Erik straightened up and turned his full attention to his current situation. He had made it. He was now inside the Dollhouse. He had managed to set foot in a place that was as damn close to mythical as anyplace on earth, somewhere that – to his knowledge – no outsider had ever infiltrated before.

And he was that much closer to Charles.

The thought was a heady one and he had to reach out and rest his palm against one of the cold, smooth walls in order to ground himself. After a moment he straightened up, in control of himself once more. He then turned to look over at the door. He had originally planned to lay low upon entering the Dollhouse but now he found that he wasn’t as keen on this idea as he had been before. He wasn’t likely to find out anything by staying put, after all. 

His decision made, he patted the gun at his hip for reassurance before taking a deep breath and striding over to the door. He paused for a moment in front of it, a sudden nameless emotion rising up in him, before he determinedly stifled it and, seizing the handle, pulled the door open and strode through. 

This time when he emerged out into the lobby he did not pause but instead walked to the centre of the building where he finally stopped and allowed himself to look around. 

The place was huge. 

He hadn’t fully appreciated it upon exiting the elevator but he could see it now: the place was enormous. It was circular in shape, with many doors and corridors leading off in different directions, and staircases that led upwards to who-knew-how-many floors. The crisp whiteness of the walls and the gleaming floor only added to the immense magnitude of the building and Erik could not help but be awed by the sight of it. It was clear that this was no two-bit operation, and this confirmed what Erik had known from the start: not only did the people behind the Dollhouse have the intelligence and capacity to create such a place, but they also had wealth and power on a scale that Erik could barely even imagine, and he had a pretty damn good imagination. They had the wealth, the power, the brains, the technology, the _influence_ … and Erik had nothing but the gun in his hand and the strength in his body to fight them with.

Even as the realisation of what he was up against was beginning to sink into Erik’s head, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching and his head jerked up, his whole body going immediately rigid with tension. Standing in the centre of the lobby as he was, he had nowhere to hide; he could only stand and wait as two sets of feet appeared from above, slowly making their way down one of the staircases.

‘Mind your step, there’s a good chap,’ one voice – a male voice – was saying encouragingly, his words presumably directed at his companion. ‘Hold on to the railings if you need to, there’s a good boy, Havok.’

Erik watched, standing stock-still, as a scrawny man with a pointed face and dark hair helped a younger blonde man walk down the stairs. Neither of them appeared to notice him; one was too focused on the act of descending the staircase and the other was too focused on helping the other down. When they did finally reach the bottom of the stairs, they both looked up and smiled. And that was when they caught sight of Erik.

‘Hello,’ the dark-haired man said, sounding slightly startled. ‘Who are you, then?’

Erik automatically opened his mouth to answer before his sense returned and he quickly shut his mouth again. The dark-haired man, who appeared to have followed his reactions, smiled, seemingly amused.

‘Oh you’re like _that_ , are you?’ he chuckled wryly, eyeing Erik with interest. ‘A follower of the Victor Creed doctrine of non-disclosure. Pity,’ he shrugged before holding out a hand. ‘I’m Sydney. Kevin Sydney. You can call me Kevin.’

Erik hesitated for a moment before slowly reaching out and reluctantly taking the other man’s hand in his.

‘I’m John,’ he said haltingly, weighing the feel of the man’s hand in his own as he carefully shook it, ‘I’m new.’

Kevin’s mouth twitched at that.

‘Yes,’ he said dryly, pulling his hand away with a sniff. ‘I figured as much.’ He then jerked his head over to his companion. ‘This here’s Havok,’ he said easily. ‘He’s my Active. Say hello, Havok.’

‘Hello,’ the blonde boy said immediately.

‘There we go,’ Kevin said with a grin. ‘Looks like we’re all friends now.’ He shot Erik a sudden sideways look. ‘So what are you doing here, _John_?’

Erik met the look with a penetrating one of his own, masking his trepidation with a cool expression. Loath as he was to admit it, this man rather unnerved him.

‘Like I said,’ he answered, deliberately calm. ‘I’m new. Not sure what I’ll be doing yet. _Kevin._ ’

Sydney didn’t seem to be at all put out by the curt answer. Instead, he grinned broadly and threw Erik a considering look. ‘I like you,’ he declared, causing Erik to blink in confusion. He allowed his eyes to assess Erik for a moment longer before nodding to himself and straightening. ‘Well, I guess I had better head off,’ he said conversationally, giving Erik a lazy smile. ‘This one here needs to be tucked in,’ he jerked his head over at Havok who was gazing at the wall with a vague smile. Sydney then turned back to Erik with a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘I’ll be leaving in a minute,’ he said slowly, his eyes fixed on a point just over Erik’s shoulder. ‘My shift’s over, you see. It’ll take about five minutes to tuck Havok in, I should think.’ His eyes suddenly darted up to Erik’s and there was a shrewd intelligence in them. ‘It was nice to meet you, _John_ ,’ and again he said the name with a curious emphasis that made Erik tense his spine in apprehension. ‘I’ll see you around if you’re still here tomorrow.’

And with that Sydney caught Havok by the arm and, with one more friendly nod at Erik, began to walk out of the lobby.

Erik watched the two figures go, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. 

The man – Sydney, Erik corrected himself – was worrisome. He was far too shrewd for his own good, and his words – his very _presence_ – made Erik anxious. He didn’t know whether Sydney had guessed that he was an intruder or whether the man always spoke that way. Either way, Erik decided, he couldn’t allow Sydney to walk free. If he’d guessed at Erik’s identity then silencing him was necessary, and even if he hadn’t then it would still do Erik’s position no harm if he were to rid himself of one more potential enemy.

His decision made, Erik watched Sydney and his Doll walk out of the room and out of sight before slowly lowering his arm down to his side where his gun rested, his body sloping forward as he prepared to follow them.

His fingertips had just brushed the hard metal casing of the gun when he froze, his whole body stiffening abruptly as a cold and horribly familiar object was suddenly pressed up against the back of his skull.

Someone was holding a gun to his head.

His fingers instinctively stretched for his own gun, still safely in its holster, only for the gun behind him to be pushed firmly against his skull in a very pointed warning. 

‘You know,’ a low, gruff voice drawled from behind him, ‘I _really_ wouldn’t do that if I were you, bub.’


End file.
